Clueless
by ForeverSherlock221B
Summary: One of Sherlock's deductions leads to a situation that John isn't remotely prepared for. However, Sherlock might know more than he's letting on... See if you pick up on the Conan Doyle canon reference. One-shot, T for language. Our first story, hope you enjoy!


"So, what's this one's name?"

John looked up from the newspaper, his tea halfway to his mouth. Despite having lived with Sherlock as long as he had, he'd never quite gotten used to his abrupt way of making conversation. Warily, he responded.

"What do you mean?"

Sherlock glared pointedly at John in a way that he knew meant 'stop being obtuse, we both know what I'm referring to'. The Look. John supposed he should be flattered; clearly Sherlock thought more highly of his intelligence than was actually the case, but did he always have to be so bloody obnoxious about it? He set down the mug and paper, perhaps a bit harder than was necessary.

"I'm not a mind reader, Sherlock. Whatever it is, you'll just have to spit it out."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, and John couldn't help but take advantage of their brief lapse in eye contact to study his companion's face. He was, as always, struck by the odd chemistry of its sharp angles and strange features._ A face like that_, he thought, _shouldn't be attractive._ And yet, he was forced to admit the truth that had been nagging at him for several weeks now: it was. Very much so, in fact. And John had fallen hard.

Sherlock's voice brought him down to earth again.

"Your new girlfriend-to-be, who else could I possibly mean?" he said, his nose wrinkling with distaste at the word 'girlfriend'.

John was baffled. "What the hell...? Sherlock, what girlfriend?"

Sherlock waved his hand impatiently. "Girlfriend-_to-be_, John. You're interested in someone, but you haven't asked her out yet, obviously."

_Ah_. John smirked. For once, Sherlock Holmes had made a mistake. He lived for moments like these.

Sherlock's expression changed from one of triumph to annoyance.

"You're smiling. Why're you smiling?" he demanded.

"Because I haven't got a girlfriend, nor do I want one. You're wrong," John said, unable to keep the smugness from his voice.

Sherlock stared pityingly at him, arching a condescending eyebrow.

"I thought you'd know by now not to try and keep things from me. It doesn't work."

John chuckled and returned to his paper, aware of his flatmate's intense stare. They stayed in their respective positions, Sherlock studying John while he pretended not to notice, for a few moments. Finally, Sherlock's gaze turned to the ceiling and John relaxed.

"It's probably two syllables, they all are," Sherlock muttered disdainfully some ten minutes later, still staring straight up.

John jumped, startled. "What is?"

"Her name."

_God, this again_, thought John, setting the paper down with a sigh. Sherlock, meanwhile, was rattling off the names of his old girlfriends who all, admittedly, had two-syllable names.

"Sa-rah, Jea-nette..."

_Sher-lock_, thought John, unable to hide his smile.

Suddenly, Sherlock's head swivelled in his direction.

"There, you see? Right there!" he yelled gleefully.

"What - where...?"

"That buffoonish grin. On your face. You're thinking of her right now, I'd know that look anywhere. You're besotted, John."

He sat back in his chair, triumphant once more.

_Well... shit_. John was well and truly terrified now. Sherlock wasn't wrong at all, then. He knew. Only one fact was missing, one that was sure to be discovered any minute now: he, Sherlock, was the girlfriend.

The ridiculousness of the word 'girlfriend' in connection to Sherlock was lost on John, as his brain seemed to have ceased to function. He could only watch, horrified, as Sherlock slowly leaned forward, steepled his hands underneath his chin, and was off.

"Ever since that case almost a month ago, you've been more concerned about your hygiene than usual. Your level of personal grooming is absurdly high for someone as practical as yourself; you've used your 'date night' cologne for the past five days. And your razor - "

John, who had finally recovered some semblance of speech, interrupted in barely more than a whisper, "Sherlock..."

Sherlock ignored him.

" - It's new. Electric. She must be special, you've always said that electric razors are a waste of money. But they do provide a closer shave, and you want to look your best for her, possibly consciously, but more likely an unconscious desire, seeing as you think she's miles out of your league. You've been forgoing your jumpers in favour of button-up shirts; you want to look more sophisticated. That's a mistake, by the way, the jumpers make you look softhearted, which is the only look you can convincingly pull off. Then there's your expression - "

John cleared his throat and tried again. "Sherlock." There was an edge of panic to his voice now. Sherlock continued, unheeding.

" - Frequently vacant, but with rather an idiotic smile. I'm not an expert, but I know the lovesick puppy look when I see it; you might as well be Molly Hooper. I could go on, but do I really need to? We both know the only possible conclusion: when I sent you round to 13 Lower Burke Street four weeks and five days ago you must have run into someone on the way, as the aforementioned effects began that day, and that was the only possible time you could have met her. Now, the only question is, who is the object of your affections?" he said, an amused glint in his eye.

It was hopeless. This was Sherlock Holmes after all. _Arrogant sod_, he thought, _he thinks he can read me like a book_. Well, John wouldn't be giving him the satisfaction of uncovering the identity of said 'girlfriend'. Sherlock's eyes were still on him, practically brimming with mirth, and he could take no more.

"I've already told you, there's no girlfriend! Goddamn it, Sherlock, for the brilliance you have at everything, you're a total git when it comes to deducing people's feelings! You're completely clueless! You want to know so badly? Are you really that bloody interested in my love life? Fine. It's you. I love you, you idiot."

_Great, John, that was brilliant. _That was it. It was all over. The man he was in love with, his best friend, was going to kick him out, surely. He knew that the truth would have come out sooner or later, but why did he have to tell him now? He could have had at least a few more days with Sherlock before he figured it out. John wanted badly to look at him, to asses how bad the situation was, but he couldn't stand to make eye contact, petrified by what he might see in his flatmate's eyes. There was a long pause during which John could have sworn that his rapid heartbeat was audible throughout the flat, and then...

Just as cocky and assuming as ever, without saying a word, Sherlock leaned in to kiss him.


End file.
